Control
by Kyrri
Summary: Remy is having some trouble with his powers. Logan tries to help... not that he does much good. (Warning: Will become a slah-pairing in future chapters.)
1. Daylight

Title: Daylight  
  
Author: Kyrri  
  
Author's e-mail: kyrrissean@hotmail.com Sequel/Series: Control (Part 1) Rating: PG Disclaimer: Don't be daft! Of course they're mine! I own them all - then again I'm also the proud owner of the Statue of Liberty and the Eiffel Tower! Come on! (Marvel, all Marvels. *mutters*) Summary: Remy's having trouble with his powers. Logan wants to help. not that he does much good. Archive: If you could just drop me a note to tell me where. Warnings: Um. slash, distrust and pretty wriggly lines! (Don't ask) Feedback: Pretty please, with a cherry on top!  
  
**********  
  
Daylight.  
  
With weary eyes, Remy watched as the first rays of morning spilled through the open blinds of the window, pushing back the darkness and igniting the world with wavering lines and dancing colour.  
  
Fire. it was moving towards him, laughing and dancing in the daylight. Playing across the carpet, burning steadily, but not consuming anything it touched.  
  
Life sparked in red on black eyes as Remy watched the kinetic potential of the very air burn around him. Wavering lines of blue flame encircled his wrist, trailing across the curves of an upturned palm as he stared in morbid fascination.  
  
The flames mesmerized him, stroking across his palm, seeming to almost plead with him to give them just that little extra nudge they needed to turn their potential to reality.  
  
Comforting blue fires turned to purple rage as he watched, his eyes going wide as his mind screamed recognition at him, bringing him from a pleasant half-doze to full wakefulness.  
  
There was just enough time for Remy to roll off the bed and free himself from the tangle of bedclothes, before the very molecules of the air above the bed exploded. Dust rained down at him as he lay on the ground, staring up at the ceiling.  
  
The wavering lines of flames were still there, dimmed, but still shimmering in the light of day. He groaned before closing his demon eyes, refusing to watch as the flames sparked and strengthened again as they undoubtedly would.  
  
"Merde," he cursed under his breath, before rolling onto his stomach and pushing himself to his knees. How could he have forgotten to close the blinds? Cursing himself as the worst kind of fool, he opened his eyes a crack, trying to locate the window in the blaze of dancing light and shifting colour.  
  
Deciding that it was useless to even try to find the window in the fiery confusion of morning, he shut his eyes again and felt his way back into bed, pulling the thick bedding and extra blankets over his head, before he dared to open oversensitive, red eyes again.  
  
The darkness beneath the covers soothed him. With sharp eyes, he picked out every fold of the blanket before finally coming to rest on his hands. He stared at them, fear starting to gnaw at the back of his mind. Where were his gloves? What if he lost control of his powers again and burned something?  
  
His control was steadily deteriorating. He hadn't been in control ever since he came back from Antarctica.  
  
Not that any of the X-Men noticed. They didn't seem to see that he was living like a vampire and if they did see, they didn't care. The shadows wavered before his eyes, seeming to shimmer in the semi-darkness as the flames of potential burned across his hands again, another power spike robbing him of even the comfort of shadows.  
  
The blanket started to glow a purple hue as the fires surrounding his hands licked at it, turning the blanket into another explosive. "Non!" he cried as he kicked the blanket into the air and braced himself for the coming explosion.  
  
More dust and plaster rained down on him after the charge had taken its course. "Merde," he cursed again, there was no chance that the X-men wouldn't have heard that. His ears were ringing - you must be deaf not to have heard it!  
  
And there it was a second later. a knock on the door and a yelling Canadian. "What the hell ya doin' in there, Gumbo?" Gambit groaned into his pillow, he didn't need this right now. This day was bad enough without him having to explain himself to Wolverine.  
  
"Nothin', Wolverine," he yelled back as he rolled over to stare up at the scorched ceiling. The fires had settled to nothing more than dimly visible coals, but Remy knew they would be back in full force later. "Go 'way." Not perhaps the most intelligent thing to say to Logan if you wanted to get rid of him, but Gambit really wasn't at his best.  
  
A sudden wave of concern bombarded his mind from the other side of the door, making him gasp. He raised the tatters that remained of his mental shields up against the feelings, hoping that they would hold enough to keep his empathy in check, but he could still feel the lightest touch of Logan's emotions.  
  
"Sorry, kid, no can do." Logan answered as the doorknob turned and the door was pushed open, causing more light to stream into the room from the corridor. Remy groaned, throwing his arm across his eyes to block out the growing light. First the window and now it appeared as though he had forgotten to lock the door as well.  
  
"What you want, homme? Why won' you leave Remy alone?" he asked as the door clicked shut behind Wolverine.  
  
The brush of boots against the carpet and the sound of blinds being pulled shut was his only answer.  
  
Gambit risked a glance at the window, turning his head so that he could let one red eye peek beneath his shielding arm. Logan was staring up at the scorch marks on the ceiling before looking at the tatters of blanket that had escaped the blast and lay torn upon the bedroom floor.  
  
His gaze shifted to the Cajun, blue eyes meeting one glowing red on black coal. "Well, homme?" Remy continued, as if there were nothing amiss.  
  
Wolverine took a step towards him, a look of disbelief in the storm clouds of his blue eyes. "What's going on, Remy?" Blue eyes flickered back to the burn marks, before focussing on the thief again.  
  
Concern washed over Remy. Concern and fear, mixed with a shock that he knew was his own. Logan cared.  
  
One red eye slid shut again as he focussed on reconstructing his shields. It was simply impossible - Wolverine couldn't possibly care about what happened to him. The concern receded; becoming nothing more than a whispered breath against his shields as they once more fell into place. He relaxed a little when his emotions were his and his alone once more.  
  
A strong calloused hand closed over his arm and his mind was flooded with emotions - concern, fear, but now it was tinged with a hint of anger and something else. Something Remy couldn't put a name to.  
  
"Non, don' touch me!" Remy yelled, recoiling from the mental onslaught. He freed himself from Logan's grasp as he pulled away, his flight ending in the corner on the other side of the room.  
  
"Remy?" Logan asked, staring at him in shock.  
  
Confusion, fear, the ever-present concern, but no trace of anger left as Gambit read his emotions like an open book, even as he tried to bring the shattered shields up again.  
  
Empath that he was, Remy responded to those emotions even as he tried to block them out. "Just don' touch me, Logan, s'il vous plait," he pleaded.  
  
"I'm not gonna hurt ya, kid." Logan replied, lifting his hand slowly, palms facing outwards and taking a step forward.  
  
"Non!" Remy yelled, "Stay back, don' come closer."  
  
"I already promised ya I'm not gonna hurt ya. What more do ya want?" Frustration joined the list of emotions that emanated from Wolverine.  
  
"Logan, you don' mean to hurt Remy. He know that, but you hurt 'im without meanin' to. Don' come closer, s'il vous plait."  
  
Logan stared at him, emotion churning inside him. The Cajun lifted his hands to his temples and closed his eyes as the confusion, frustration, concern and hint of anger sparked through his mind again.  
  
"You could kill an empath without ever coming closer than six feet, you know 'dat, Logan? Stop bein' angry at me already, will you? Don' think I could take that right now. Your emotions even worse to have to feel when you're angry." And for the life of him he didn't know why he had said it. He'd been hiding the fact that he had a mental gift for so long it had become second nature - so why come clean with Wolverine?  
  
The shock that radiated from Logan caused Remy to open his eyes again to look at the Canadian. Wolverine was staring at him in astonishment, the concern in his eyes briefly eclipsed as he processed what Gambit had told him.  
  
Logan mouthed the word 'empath', before shaking himself and looking at the Cajun consideringly, before glancing back at the scorched ceiling and looking at Gambit again.  
  
"Ya should let the Professor help ya, kid, if yer having trouble with yer powers." Logan said softly, not daring to move any closer to the auburn- haired thief.  
  
"Gambit don' need his help. He don' want it!" Remy replied venomously, finally managing to force Logan's emotions out of his mind, drawing on a rage that was his and his alone. A rage that came of an old fear.  
  
'Never trust, Remy. You'll only get hurt that way.' Gambit thought to himself. Gambit was the strong one, the one who'd pull him through this. His mask was his only protection here and Remy knew only that mask could save him.  
  
Logan looked from him to the scorched ceiling and back again, disbelief clearly written on his face. Those blue eyes filled with swirling storm clouds as he forced his anger away. Letting only his desire to help the Cajun remain.  
  
"Remy, don't do this! Ya need help and ya know it. Ya haven't been out of this room in ages. I don't think I've seen ya in the light of day for at least a week. It's no way to live. Let the Professor help ya!"  
  
"Non! Don' need help. Been doin' been on me own!" Gambit replied stubbornly.  
  
Logan's frustration turned to anger again. Storm clouds swirling madly in blue eyes as he stared at Remy and then. the storm broke and there was nothing Wolverine was going to do about it this time. He was going to help the kid whether the kid wanted it or not.  
  
He lunged forward and caught the Cajun's wrist in a firm grasp and proceeded to drag him from the room before Remy could react at all. But after the initial shock wore off, Gambit started to fight back, desperately trying to free himself, but Logan's grip was too strong to break and the man seemed oblivious to the thief battering at him with his free hand.  
  
"Stop struggling Remy, it won't do ya any good. Yer gonna visit the Professor whether ya want to or not. It's for ya own good, kid." Logan said, bodily hauling the kid towards the corridor, grabbing sunglasses off the dresser with his free hand as they passed it on their way to the door.  
  
"For my own good." Remy repeated sarcastically. "Sure it's in Gambit's best interests if he blows up the mansion and himself too, because you dragged him out of his room where he couldn' hurt nobody and made him go on a walkabout." Remy stopped struggling, however, seeming to have resigned himself to his fate.  
  
Wolverine just shook his head, turning back to the Cajun only long enough to press the pair of sunglasses he had grabbed of the dresser into the kid's hand before turning back to the door and opening it.  
  
Remy flinched as the light hit his oversensitive eyes, the patterns of the kinetic potential dancing in front of his eyes as Logan proceeded to drag him down the corridor.  
  
They were quite the spectacle. The short Wolverine growling as he dragged a tall Cajun dressed only in sweatpants and a T-shirt through the long hallways of the mansion in the early morning-hours.  
  
"Logan, don' do this. Let Remy go. He don' need to see the Professor." Remy pleaded softly, but it only caused Logan to increase his pace and tug harder at his wrist.  
  
Logan's worry was still battering at his shields, so much so, that he didn't notice that they were gathering quite a following. As they drew nearer to the end of the corridor, Warren's door opened. Remy's mind blazed with sensation. He could feel the winged mutant's anger, his hatred as they moved passed his room. Angel's scorn for him covered all trace of the concern Logan's felt.  
  
Remy's hands began to glow as Warren's anger became his, and the pieces of his shields that he had managed to retain fell away completely. He lost himself in that anger. The fire of it seared its way into his soul and his body got rid of it the only way it knew how.  
  
Logan's yelp of pain brought him back to the present. Remy immediately withdrew the charge and pulled away from Logan. He looked at the scorched patches of skin in horror. Then as the skin slowly started to heal, he turned and sprinting back down the corridor.  
  
He didn't even notice the shocked faces as he pushed his way passed those of the X-Men who had been trailing behind them.  
  
He ran all the way back to his room, slamming it shut behind him. Not hearing Logan's shouted reassurances that everything was all right. Not feeling the concern that Logan felt for him.  
  
Remy wasted no time. Turning the key in the lock, he headed for the closet and got dressed in a record time. He snatched his trench from where it hung over a chair, grabbed the duffel he packed weeks ago. He had contemplated leaving for a long time and had found a reason to put it off every time. But now.  
  
The doorknob turned as Logan tried to push his way inside, but was halted by the lock.  
  
"Remy?" Wolverine called through the door. "It's alright, come on. I'm fine. Open the door."  
  
Remy looked at the door once before glancing at the window. Making sure that his sunglasses were secure he pulled the blinds back, opened the window and slipped outside, sliding soundlessly down the drainpipe.  
  
Logan was still standing outside Remy's door, and quickly losing patience. "Remy, if you don't open up I'm gonna break the door down!" When no answer came from inside the room, Logan released his claws. "You asked for it!" he told him and cut through the lock. The door swung open as Wolverine pushed inside.  
  
There was no sign of Remy. The closet door hung open, revealing the fact that most of the kid's clothes where gone. A quick glance to the window confirmed it - Remy was gone.  
  
Wolverine growled under his breath, before turning round and heading towards the garage, practically bowling Cyclops over as he raced down the stairs, ignoring Scott's yell to slow down and quickened his pace.  
  
He skidded to a halt inside the garage, just in time to see Remy's bike turn the corner as the kid raced away from the mansion at breakneck speed.  
  
'This was just perfect', he thought dryly.  
  
TBC? 


	2. For the Best

Title: For the Best  
  
Author: Kyrri  
  
Author's e-mail: kyrrissean@hotmail.com Sequel/Series: Control (Part 2) Rating: PG Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters. They all belong to Marvel, I only get to play with them every now and then. Plus, if you sue me, you're liable to take more of a loss than anything else. I don't have anything that's worth the effort. Summary: Chasing Remy is not all it's cracked up to be. Archive: If you could just drop me a note to tell me where. Warnings: If you kill the author for taking this long to update, part three will be postponed indefinitely. ;) Also watch out for Scott being a prick! *glares at Scott* Bad character, bad!!! Feedback: Pretty please, with a cherry on top!  
  
**********  
  
Logan glanced around the empty room in frustration, blue eyes skimming across the walls, ceiling and floor. There was no doubt about it - the kid had been here. His scent rested heavily in the room, carelessly intertwined with the appalling reek of burned wood and plaster.  
  
He let calloused fingers trail along the scorch-marks on the closet doors. Logan had been tracing the thief for the last two days and if the increasing wreckage was any indication at all, things were getting worse by the hour.  
  
Silently, he cursed the kid's stubborn refusal of help. Not that that mattered - the moment he found him, he was going to drag him back to the mansion and force said help upon him, whether the Cajun wanted it or not.  
  
The problem was that the kid was proving to be rather elusive. Not that Logan had expected Remy to be easy to find - the kid knew how to hide when he wanted too - but he'd thought that the added handicap of having his powers spiral slowly out of control would at least have slowed the thief down.  
  
Logan sighed, before sitting down on the bed in the dingy little room, wondering were he should go from here. The kid's trail stopped, but there was no kid in sight. It was almost as if Remy had been playing with him, leaving him just enough clues to follow him to the next location, before disappearing completely.  
  
He had no illusions about the thief not knowing he was being followed. Being discrete wasn't exactly the Wolverine's style and if you go around beating up someone's contacts to find them, that person is definitely going to notice that something's wrong.  
  
Logan felt anger spark, but suppressed it - getting angry wasn't going to help anyone. Re-examining the facts would be of far more use. He was getting closer; that much couldn't be denied. The kid's scent was still fresh - it couldn't be more than a few hours old.  
  
And Remy was definitely struggling to hide - two days ago the joined efforts of Jean and the Professor couldn't pick the kid up on any mental radar, but now his defences had shattered sufficiently enough for them to be able to track him down to a two-mile radius. Alright, it wasn't much, but it was something and they were getting closer to pinpointing him. Their word was the only proof Logan had that Gambit was still in the city.  
  
He refused to think what would happen if Remy decided to leave the city. With a playground as large as the world to hide in, Logan doubted that he'd ever find him. Briefly ice-blue eyes flickered to the trace of moonlight at his feet, the only thin strand to escape the close-drawn curtains.  
  
A frown knotted between his brows. Something wasn't right about it, but he couldn't put his finger on it. The curtain shifted, letting a slight breeze through, along with more light as it was tossed slightly to the side.  
  
His gaze shifted to it, as he turned his head to look, wondering what was bothering him, except the absence of his prey. Except the absence of his prey and the fact that their fearless leader didn't seem at all concerned with Remy's recent departure from the mansion.  
  
Scott could really be a stubborn asshole when he wanted to. If any other member of the team was missing Fearless would probably be out here himself, looking for them. For anyone, but the kid and himself.  
  
Then again, it wasn't really like he could blame Scott for not believing that the Cajun wouldn't return this time, weeks later and in perfect health, like he and Logan both always doing. In fact, most of the Team's attitude towards Remy's disappearance rubbed him the wrong way.  
  
He could hardly believe that only four people in the mansion could find it in themselves to care about what happened to the kid. Some family they were, perhaps Remy would be better off without them, but that didn't change the fact that the kid needed help. Or that Logan was going to find him if it was the last thing he did.  
  
***********  
  
"Scott, please reconsider." Ororo was leaning over his desk, bracing herself with fine-boned hands against its hard surface as she stared their fearless leader straight in the visor.  
  
Cyclops looked back at her, his hidden gaze unflinching and uncompromising behind its mask. "No." The word was simple and staggering in its finality. Ororo pulled away, straightening her back so that she could glare down at their leader.  
  
"Why are you doing this? If it were anyone else we would all be out there looking for him." Ororo asked angrily, her voice cold and low, the storm brewing beneath it palpable, even as her features remained calm: the only indication of her rising emotion her tone of voice.  
  
"Gambit always comes back. What makes you think he won't this time?" Ororo's eyes stopped halfway between their normal shade and turning an iris- less white, the roaring thunder outside, echoing her mood.  
  
"I don't believe it." Ororo's expression became almost pained as she took a step backwards, the off-white of her coat sliding against her ankles. "You have not listened to a single word of what Logan or the Professor have told you. My brother's shields are crumbling and after the fiasco in Antarctica he has no reason to come to us for help."  
  
"From what the Professor's said about those shields making Gambit a telepathic ghost I'd think he'd be happy that they're disintegrating. Why do." Scott didn't get to finish his sentence as a loud crack resounded through the room.  
  
Gingerly he raised his palm to his cheek, where Ororo had slapped him, the red palm-print throbbing furiously. "You're a fool." Storm hissed at him, the wind outside rattling the windows of his study.  
  
"Ask your wife what it would be like for her, if she lost her shields." She turned and stalked from the room, but only made it as far as the door, her fingers sealing on the doorknob, about to turn it, before Scott spoke again. He'd stood up behind his desk, one hand reaching out, almost as though to stop her from leaving.  
  
"But he isn't a telepath." Ororo didn't turn as she pulled the door open.  
  
"No, he isn't. But there are other gifts that require mental shields for survival." The door slammed shut behind her, with such force that the windows rattled from more than just the rising wind outside.  
  
Scott half-fell half-sat back down in his chair. 'Other mental gifts.'  
  
***********  
  
Logan glanced around the room for the hundredth time - there had to be something he was missing. some kind of clue to where the Cajun was heading next.  
  
The slightly billowing curtain drew his attention once more. Something still bothered him about it. Moonlight trickled through the gaps like silver rain, beckoning his eyes to follow it to the floor - that feeling of wrongness increasing as he did so.  
  
A single pool of dark shadow was revealed in the centre of the silver beam as the rising wind tossed the curtain further away from the open window. There was a storm brewing. He could just hear the roar of distant thunder. Briefly he wondered if old Fearless had been stupid enough to make Ororo mad. She did say that she was going to try to talk some sense into him, last time the two of them spoke.  
  
He shook his head, his attention fixing on the black triangle that presented itself, breaking the dark shadow of the curtain with a single jagged edge, as it seemed to stab its way into the light.  
  
He turned around slowly, before moving to the window and pulling the curtains open in one single violent movement.  
  
The Jack of Diamonds stared at him from where it had been wedged firmly into the frame of the partially open window. He reached for it, pulling it free from its perch before shutting the window against the scattered raindrops that had started to fall.  
  
It seemed that the kid had left him a gift after all. Curiously he flipped the card over between his fingers. A feral smile spread across his features as he read what had been scrawled on the back in the flowing script he easily recognised as the kid's.  
  
What was the Cajun thinking? He should have known that those three words would only make the hunter in him want to catch his prey more. 'Stop following me.' Remy must really be in desperate straits if he thought that would dissuade Logan from the chase.  
  
'Maybe he wants to be found.' the thought stopped Logan in his tracks.  
  
***********  
  
Darkness pressed against the side of the greenhouse, the wind howling around the corners as rain obscured the image of its keeper moving inside from one of her precious 'children' to the next in silent determination to work off some of the rage she felt at Scott's behaviour.  
  
Storm clouds swirled overhead and lightning ripped the skies asunder as the rain came down more heavily. The gentle symphony of twinkling bells as it tapped against the glass overhead turned to more harsh sounds of a pummelling torrent of a seemingly ceaseless downpour.  
  
Ororo fumed, the rain seeming to draw her anger from her, as it would steam from sun-baked earth. And as the anger began to dissipate, the dreaded feeling of hopelessness and despair returned. The waiting was going to drive her insane. It had already driven her into Scott's office to fight what she knew was a losing battle.  
  
He could be a stubborn prick when he wanted to.  
  
The wind rejoined the chorus of the rain with renewed fervour, scratching against the glass and driving her thoughts from her mind, before the door banged open under the onslaught. Ororo moved to push it close again, before the worst of the weather could penetrate her sanctuary, sliding the lock into place and making sure that it would remain shut this time.  
  
She sighed, surveying the falling rain through the transparent shield of the thick glass, her breath fogging against the surface as the weather echoed her mood to perfection. Something cold and wet brushed against her neck as it came to rest on her shoulder.  
  
Surprised, she whirled around, throwing what appeared to be a gloved hand from her shoulder as she faced its owner. Her breath left her in a silent gasp as she fell back against the glass wall for support.  
  
Her eyes roved over the figure standing in front of her in quiet desperation that he was really there. Remy stood before her, dripping wet and grinning like a maniac, demonic eyes dancing with inner light even through the dark lenses of sunglasses - inappropriate as they were for this weather.  
  
"Miss me, Stormy?" he asked, nearly falling over as she flung herself into his arms. "I'll take that as 'oui'," he continued, smiling as she pulled away.  
  
"You really should not call me that," Ororo answered, tears running freely down her mahogany cheeks and utterly ruining the effect of her stern tone of voice.  
  
"What's this, Stormy?" he asked, ignoring the warning, as always, before trailing a thumb over a tear-stained cheek. "You shouldn't be crying, cherie."  
  
"You disappeared. You didn't even say goodbye. Logan said."  
  
But he interrupted her. "Don't listen to a thing Wolverine says. I'm fine. I don't need help, Stormy. Just gonna leave for a little while, me. Gotta take care of something."  
  
Ororo stared at him, not wanting to comprehend his words, but unable to run from the reality of it. He wasn't back. He was going to leave again. The rain, which had let up somewhat outside, turned into a downpour once more, making the glass walls protest under the onslaught. "When will you return?" she asked, trying to make her voice sound calm as always, even if what she felt was far from it.  
  
"Don't know, me. Not for a while," but she heard the unspoken words well enough. He didn't mean to come back at all and she couldn't help as the wind rattled the windows harder, or as the twinkling melody of the rain became an insistent droning. She was going to lose her brother again.  
  
Like magic, a white rose appeared from beneath his sodden trench, before he trailed it over her tear-streaked cheeks, watching the pure white petals contrast with the dark skin in much the way that her hair did. He pressed it against her nose, teasingly, before stepping away from her to present it to her with a bow and a flourish. "For you my lady."  
  
Ororo smiled softly at him, before accepting it, the thin stem feeling almost fragile between her fingertips, much like the hope that he would return again, when she knew he did not intend to. White roses were her favourite, a symbol of love and purity, but with the warning that such things can also scathe you in the silent promise of sharp thorns. She noticed the small square envelope attached to the stem and looked up at him, curiously.  
  
"Couldn't leave you, Stormy. Not you. not without saying goodbye." He gave her a small smile, before continuing. "If you need me you can find the means to find me in there. J'taime, cherie," he said softly, before placing a chaste kiss upon her lips and disappearing into the storm, the lock of the door clicking open between quick and agile fingers. Lightning flashed to reveal a dark silhouette pulling a trench closer around himself and then nothing. He was gone.  
  
Ororo stood staring out of the glass walls as the rain continued to attack the greenhouse; shedding the tears she would not. She glanced down at the card again, before tearing it open, aghast to see the evidence of her shattering calm mask in shaking fingers. She read the address and the name, before glancing around the greenhouse, her eyes lost.  
  
She couldn't. Slowly she moved towards the com-system that was installed all over the Mansion, the lost look in her eyes becoming one of determination. Within seconds, her choice had been made. Her brother had to come home. She wondered if he realized he had been leaking emotions.  
  
His shields must have been in a truly awful state. She'd felt everything, his fear, coupled with her own. His determination to leave, coupled with hers to bring him home. His love; she'd felt that too and there was no doubt in her mind that he cared deeply about her and that he was certain what he was doing was for the best.  
  
But she wouldn't simply let him go, not when he so desperately needed the help that he was refusing.  
  
She fumbled with the buttons on the machine, disgusted with the inefficiency of her trembling hands as she plotted out the familiar sequence. She'd done this so many times in the last few days. Why would this time be so different? This was for the best, after all.  
  
"Yeah." a gruff voice on the other side of the connection said.  
  
"Logan?"  
  
TBC 


End file.
